


Decaydance

by imissyouterribly



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imissyouterribly/pseuds/imissyouterribly
Summary: Decadence/dɪˈkeɪd(ə)ns/verb1. To "decline" in an abstract sense.2. A perceived decay in standards, morals, dignity, religious faith, or skill at governing among the members of the elite of a very large social structure, such as an empire or nation state.





	Decaydance

**Author's Note:**

> Changes from Wattpad version: now set in a university instead of high school to avoid teenage sex scenes, if there are any

_Well, I suppose this is it._

 

My first day at Decaydance Academy. An odd name for a college, but a college nonetheless. My name’s Patrick, I'm nineteen years old, and I'm afraid that I'm already lost.

 

The gothic building stood tall against an overcast grey sky. As soon as I stood into the courtyard I felt the atmosphere change as a bustling crowd of students walked back and forth from every direction. 

 

I scoped the courtyard for a glimpse of who I'll be stuck with for the next two years of my education. Most of these kids look absolutely terrifying, clad in black eyeliner and leather jackets, their music, which I could only presume as their own, blasting from their counterfeit speakers. I didn't fit in, being five foot four and far from threatening. Oh, and I forgot to say, this is a _music_ college. You know, college for the kids who didn’t make it and want to rebel but usually end up a poster on some sad teenagers wall.

 

I found my way to the office where I was greeted by a small man at the counter who gave me my timetable. Classes were dull, especially music theory, but I found myself observing my classmates. Many stood out to me, a few being a boy with long, quite obviously dyed black hair who wore a suit, even though this college has no dress code, and black eyeliner. Another being a very lanky student sitting with his friends in a corner where it had been graffitied and the plaster broken off. He seemed popular. It was until I saw the kid in a tan hoodie who had isolated himself from his friends. He looked as if he was the only person doing the work.

 

He must've seen me staring because I noticed him run his hands through his fringe, watching me through narrowed eyes. I turned around blushing heavily from embarrassment. When class ended, I took some time to pack my stuff away to watch the guy in the hoodie who was sitting behind me. He paused at the door to talk to some girl with bright ginger hair who handed him a piece of paper and walked off; he studied the paper before going his own way. Mildly confused and vastly curious, I walked his way. I don't know what prompted me to follow him, something was just so compelling about him. 

 

He snaked through the college corridors with the agility only someone with years of experience of these dreary yellowing walls would have. I could barely keep up with him and I'm certainly surprised that he couldn't hear my heavy footsteps following him. Or at least I thought he couldn't. It was only when he had gotten near the back entrance that I noticed that the halls were abandoned, the only sign that anyone was in the college were the professors in the break room. But I had become too carried away, as when my mind returned to him he had gone.

 

I burst through the doors, only to be welcomed by nothing but the wind in the trees and the soft chanting coming from behind the school. Something made my chest stir and my anxiety flare up as I dashed around the corner. A crowd was gathered around a decrepit bicycle shelter full of cigarette butts and needles of whatever use I don't even want to think about at this moment. I pushed through the crowd - not like they seemed very phased by that, they seemed more intent on what was happening in the middle of it – and saw the same ginger girl from earlier along with another new face.

 

“Christ, Pete’s really getting his monthly, ain't he Frank?”, she spoke through gritted teeth. Frank simply shrugged and swept his greasy hair away from his face to light a cigarette. I wrinkled my nose at the smell and scoffed, but the it wasn't only the stench of tobacco that I could identify. I also smelt iron. A _lot_ of it. As soon as I reached the edge of the group, it all came together. The boy in the tan hoodie, or Pete as he's apparently called, was standing on weak knees, blood all down his front and a black eye. His fists were clenched, bloody and bruised, but he wouldn't back down. His opponent, some bald waste of mass in a fake biker jacket.

 

One of his minions, a scrawny guy with badly dyed red hair glanced over to me and smirked haughtily.

 

“Yo Shane, isn't that the new kid?” 

 

_Shit._

 

I tried to run, I really did, but it's no wonder how they caught up to me. I heard whooping and hollering coming from the group around me until I had just given up on caring about the minor details anymore. They decked me onto the floor and kicked me in my stomach. I felt a few good blows at my face before they had been hauled off me. It hurt so bad. I felt so sick. The left side of my face throbbed and I felt blood dripping from my nose as I doubled over in pain, gripping my sides.

 

To my surprise, I saw him. Pete. He was edging his way out of the scuffle, grabbing my collar and pulled me out of the group.

“You’re weak, Pete. _Weak”_ I heard Shane sneer. God, I wish I was the one fighting him and not Pete.  “We’ll continue this another time, c’mon boys.” As people departed, Pete led me to a tree stump and we sat in silence for a while.

 

“You should go to welfare and get that checked out.” He pointed at my face. If this were any other situation I would've been slightly offended.

“What about you, though?” I asked.

“Yeah, it's cool. I'll be okay.” He replied absently. “It happens a lot anyways.” 

He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, the denim on his knees torn and bloody. 

“The name’s Patrick, if you wanted to know at all.” I said wearily.

“That’s nice, Patrick. You know my name.” He turned around and waved his hand.

“I'll see you around, kiddo. Oh, and if you see any guys named Joe or Andy H, tell them I said hey.”

 

And almost as soon as I met him, he was gone. There was something more to him, something that I wasn't sure of. Maybe it was the glint in his amber eyes that look like a smouldering fire or it was just how he basically saved me from getting my face beaten in, but it was nice. I could tell that from there onwards, we were gonna be pretty good friends.


End file.
